


golden

by cinnabean



Series: Lebanon Reserve for Creatures of Myth [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: :/, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Creature Castiel, Foul Language, Fowl language, Harpies, Harpy Anna, Harpy!Castiel, Imprinting, M/M, Oblivious Dean, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Pining Anna, Sam and Charlie are bros, Sam and Charlie run a nature reserve, Slow Burn, To be honest, Will add tags as the story progresses, XD, also, and by that i mean my potty mouth, annaxcharlie fans brace yourselves for whats to come, because cas knows what he wants but it takes dean a while to get with the picture really, courtesy of Ember, creature!Castiel, daydreaming will likely occur in the near future, for sure, guess what Dean, lil bird dude's in love w/ youuuu, most of the angels are gonna be harpies, of sorts, t is for dean's potty mouth, whatcha gonna do about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8383456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnabean/pseuds/cinnabean
Summary: Sam's the one who's all up in nature's business at the reserve he co-runs, yet Dean's the one saddled with the responsibility of caring for the quirky little bird dude who can't seem to fit himself back into the wild.





	1. literally a prologue

Four hours after he'd left to take Charlie's shift at the reserve, Sam calls Dean.

"Havin an issue with one of the, uh, guests around here," he says. The desperation is thick in his voice when he continues, "do you think you could, maybe, grab some--I don't know, fish?--and head on over here? Help me out?"

Usually, the reserve is the last place Sam wants Dean. Because of that, he's never been. Heard the occasional tales about it from Charlie, one of his closest friends, the one who mostly runs the place, but he's never actually stepped foot inside, despite her invites. 

"You sure?" Dean asks, just as much to rile him up as to make certain whether he's gonna have to turn off the latest episode of _Doctor Sexy_ , which he's currently in the process of marathoning. "I mean, usually you tell me not--"

"I _know_ I tell you not to come," Sam snaps. In the background, there is a faint shrieking going on. Sam's voice goes away for a minute as he growls at somebody or something back there, and then it comes back. "This dude's really pissed that the river is so polluted this year and he's not getting enough fish and he's taking it out on--will you cut it _out_ I'm _trying_ to get some fish for you--he's taking it out on me and I could really use a helping hand, please, so call me back when you get here."

Dean grumbles as he puts away his phone and pauses the TV for when he gets back, but he gets up to grab his leather jacket and keys all the same. At the dining room table he pauses, glancing between the two wallets and then grabbing both. If Sam wants to spontaneously invite him to get fish for _his_ rescue critters, he can pay for them.

The drive over to the Safeway between their house and the reserve takes less than fifteen minutes, but then Dean has to patter around the meat section of the store and try to guess the quality of the fish he sees. If whoever he's getting these for is displeased by natural, wild fish, he or she is not gonna enjoy processed fish any better, but whatever he was sent here for a reason and so he finally chooses two salmon fillets and a whole rainbow trout, hoping that they're enough to satisfy the critter Sam has waiting for him. When he makes it to the check-out line, his phone buzzes with a frantic text from his brother.  


[ **Sam** ]:Dean can you hury??//?  
[ **Dean** ]: going as fast as I can dude chill  
[ **Dean** ]:focus on ur lil animal buddy ill b there soon

The lady in front of him in the line is perhaps halfway through with her groceries when he glances up from his phone. She alternates between transferring them from cart to conveyor belt and casting disgusted glances between Dean and the fish in his hands. The next time she looks at him he stares back and wiggles the trout out of its paper wrapping so that the mouth flops open and closed in her direction. She scowls at him, but starts loading up the belt faster, which is more than Dean was expecting, really. He makes sure to send her an arrogant grin and waves the fish goodbye at her retreating back once she finally gathers up her purchase and leaves. The cashier, either ignorant or uncaring of the exchange, makes the transaction quickly and barely offers a second glance at the credit card that most certainly does not belong to Dean, which he's grateful for because it's hard to make his brother pay when he doesn't carry cash in his wallet. The fish are slipped into a paper bag that Dean carefully sets inside his car once he gets back outside. His hands are already starting to smell like fish; he doesn't want his car to.

Though he's never been to the reserve, Dean knows the kind of creatures that live there. Not the usual wildlife, but the type that often had a human face, the type that had used to exist only in stories before they were discovered to actually roam the earth. Charlie's favorite of the frequent visitors is a gentle fairy who calls herself Gilda, who had come to the reserve to escape from poachers and then returned for the friendly faces. Sam had been fond of a werewolf named Madison, until she'd been caught off the reserve hunting humans and was killed accidentally by one of her targets. Dean's also heard tales of a forest imp known for playing pranks on everyone, a pack of hell hounds that were either docile and sweet or ferocious and deadly, and a yellow-eyed Kludde that was dangerous because it had a nasty habit of causing forest fires. All in all, even though he's thrilled to get to see at least a few of the beasts once thought to be mythical, Dean's more than a little nervous. He knows how to defend himself and hold his own in a fight, but only with humans. He's never had to face beings with talons and fangs before. He hopes he won't have to today.

Lost in thought about sparring with monsters, the minutes and the miles speed past Dean and before he knows it, he's outside the iron and steel perimeter fence. The bars of the fence are thicker than his arm, enough to deter people from finding their way inside, and are made of the two materials that bother most creatures enough to discourage any contact with them. The main road splits into an unpaved dirt path that follows the fence about a mile into the surrounding forest, before bending sharply inside through a tall spiked gate. At one corner of the gate is a pedestal with a keypad, designed to allow only those with a code in and expertly crafted by Charlie to repel anyone trying to hack in. 

[ **Dean** ]: at the gate, need code asap  
[ **Dean** ]: ps this fish smells like ass, u owe me big time

From where he sits outside the gate, Dean can see the long twisting river that winds through the entirety of the reserve and for a good few miles outside of it. It's one of the reasons that the Lebanon Reserve for Creatures of Myth is one of the most diverse and well-funded reserves in the country--the massive river provides an excellent living space for water-dependent beings and offers fresh water and marine prey for the land-dwelling creatures. A good hundred or so feet into the reserve rests an outcropping of boulders that are flat at the top and slope into the water, a perfect place for resting and sunning. Dean can see the outline of something dark green and shimmery draped half in and half out of the river, though he has no clue what it is. A shiver of excitement rolls down his spine. He is _so_ ready to go in there and meet all the things of legend. 

[ **Sam** ]: 493416  
[ **Sam** ]:(Pt1/3) turn your music off, drive slowly, and stay on the path until you get to  
[ **Sam** ]:(Pt 2/3)the cabins. Keep your windows rolled up. Watch out for anything on  
[ **Sam** ]:(Pt 3/3)the road but don't get out of the car until you get to me.

Dean leans out the window to punch in the code and then cranks it back up as the gate starts rolling open. The space between the two halves of the gate is roughly nine feet across, enough to fit most vehicles through without allowing much room for nearby creatures to escape. He rolls carefully through the space, observing the way the gate slides shut as soon as the last handful of inches of his car passes through and making a personal note not to take his time getting through in case the gate decides to close on his car. When he passes the boulders next to the river, he's a bit disappointed to notice that the green form is no longer on display, tells himself to ask Sam about it once he gets the fish delivered. The lack of music unnerves him after a minute or two and he starts whistling quietly as he makes his way deeper into the reserve, taking in details that he'd never been able to see before in all the times he'd dropped Sam off at the gates and then driven away. To the right of the path is the river, which is surrounded by marshes and cattails that turn into grassy plains and rolling hills. On the left is the forest that, once past the perimeter of the fence, seems to become as unreal and fantastical as the creatures who live in it. Enormous dark trees seem to reach for hundreds of feet into the sky, blotting out most of the sunlight that makes a decent attempt to stream through the canopy and reach the forest floor,

As Dean drives on, he becomes aware of two things. Firstly, the forest smoothly transitions from dark and ethereal to light and magical-looking. Secondly, over the hum of his car and the soft notes of his whistling, is a far away cacophony that is slowly becoming louder as he gets closer. In the distance he can see what he assumes to be the cabins that Sam was speaking of, the buildings that the reserve caretakers sometimes live in, where medical supplies and research files are kept, and where expectant parents come to lay their clutches or litters. The shrieks and screeches Dean guesses are from the enraged monster that Sam's dealing with, that _he_ will soon be dealing with. 

Once he gets close enough to the cabins to make out details, he realizes the reserve has suddenly fallen silent. _He's seen me,_ Dean thinks bizarrely. _He knows I'm here._ He quickly surveys the area around him before reaching for his phone.

[ **Dean** ]: at the cabins, princess. where r u???  
[ **Dean** ]: feel like i'm bein watched dude, this is crazy

Dean drums his fingers across the dashboard of his car, feeling unnerved by the sensation of being watched when there is no visible being around him. He knows Sam's problematic critter is the one watching him, but he doesn't even know what he is, let alone what he looks like. The shifting in the treetops could be something, or it could be wind. That could be the glint of eyes in the shadows of a cabin, or it could be sunlight reflecting off of litter. That could be the thing right there, walking toward him--or it could be his sasquatch of a brother, taller than he has any right to be and big enough to look like he belongs in a forest of things more incredible than humans.

Sam has a scratch that stretches from under his left eye across his cheek that looks swollen and like it's been bleeding for a while with no sign of stopping. He has gravel and bits of grass and leaves in his hair, and looks like he's wearing the dust and grime of the reserve as another layer.

" _Please_ tell me you have fish. You got the fish, right?"

Dean snags the paper bag and holds it up to the windshield where his brother can see when he gets close enough. Unfortunately, the fish have been out of refrigeration long enough to unleash a god-awful stink when he accidentally crinkles the bag open. Gagging, he cranks down the window and shoves the bag outside into the fresh air. Sam makes a face when the stench reaches him but reaches out and takes the bag from him. 

He pulls out the trout first, then sets the bag down, holding the fish up to the sky like an offering to the gods above.

"Look," he calls into the open air, "here's your fish!! Will you calm down and come get it, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?" 

He's still waving the trout above him and that's when Dean realizes that the grumpy monster is sky-dwelling. Suspicious, he twists in his seat to peer at the treetops behind the car, the ones that he had seen shifting in what he'd convinced himself to be wind. There, in the uppermost branches of one of the larger trees in the area; a large shape dappled with multiple shades of blue.

Dean watches the thing stay put and ignore Sam for a good thirty seconds before clearing his throat and shooting his brother a pointed look toward the treeline.

Dean knows the exact moment Sam finds the thing he's looking for because he immediately rolls his eyes, sets his features into a bitch face, and starts shuffling to the trees, fish firmly grasped and still held high.

"He do that often?"

"What," Sam snorts, "hide away in the trees every time he's in a sulk? Yeah. Though I bet at least part of the reason this time is because you're here. The only humans he's really used to are the ones around here, and he hates most of us." He glances down at the fish in his hands and then at the distance between himself and the monster in the trees, looking like he's seriously contemplating just giving up on trying to make nice and simply tossing the trout in his general direction, and then heaves out a sigh. "As much as I'd love to just give up, I have to remember that most of the experience he's had with people has been negative, and he barely trusted me before the whole river thing. Now, I swear he thinks the pollution is somehow my doing, like I want nothing more in my 'disgusting human life' to make his miserable in as many ways as I can." 

Dean grunts in acknowledgement but doesn't know what to even say to that, so he gets out of the car and takes a few steps first to collect the salmon fillets, then to his brother. He grips Sam's shoulder tightly to offer a bit of support and then when his brother turns around to do the same, immediately drops his hand and flinches when the action causes an incredibly loud scream from the trees. "Dude, what the hell?!" he snaps, trying to block out the sound by dropping the fish and covering his ears but the noise is so damn earsplitting that it doesn't help at all. "The fuck's his problem?" 

"He's a harpy," Sam shouts back. "They use high volume shrieks to defend themselves from predators at a distance. He must've seen you grab me and thought you were attacking me, or about to attack him or something. Just, back up or something. Go back to the car. And give me the fish!"

Dean picks up the bag and shoves it into Sam's hands before turning tail and jogging back to his car. As soon as he gets back there, the auditory attack halts and the air is filled with silence. A single _cark?_ rings out from the treeline and the harpy shudders in his perch. "Look, man," Dean yells up at him, cupped hands increasing the volume in an attempt to give him a taste of his own medicine, "just here to give you your goddamn fish so you have something good to eat, okay? Think you should probably calm down." Sam tosses a glare at him over his shoulder from where he's crouched a few paces in front of him, tearing open the package of salmon fillets and arranging them and the trout in a pile on the ground meant to be appealing.

"He doesn't speak English, you moron, what good's talking to him going to do?"

"You were talking to him earlier, on the phone!"

"Yeah, but I wasn't actually _talking_ to him, I was talking _at_ him. He understands the feelings behind what we say, and most of the meaning usually, but he doesn't know the words. Probably came from somewhere else around the world; the rest of the harpies 'round here came from the same flock and all knew English."

Once he's got the pile of offerings made up as neatly as he can, Sam moves back to his brother's side. As soon as he gets close enough to reach out and touch Dean, the harpy starts wailing again. Startled, Dean takes a step away from Sam and the harpy quiets. "Sam, what's going on? That was all you, there's no way he could've thought I was about to hurt you or something."

Sam eyes the harpy with a puzzled expression, not one of not understanding, but something instead resembling disbelief. "I think I have an idea," he says with a chuckle. He rubs his hands against the filthy lap of his pants and makes to wipe one against the cut across his face that had begun bleeding again, but frowns at the dirt all over it and instead uses his forearm. Dean itches to step forward and patch up his little brother, assess the damage, but he's afraid of setting off the harpy again--and that's when Sam suddenly steps in close, crowding Dean up against the side of his car and throwing his long arms out on either side of Dean to prevent him from sliding away.

" _Sam!?_ "

"Relax, Dean, this will only take a--"

The harpy fucking _explodes_ , sounding like a whole damn marching band, no, a whole fucking orchestra where every musician has decided to just say _fuck it_ and collectively play the most obnoxious, ear-destroying note as loud as they can. He leaps from the tree and sails down toward the ground and _fuck_ , Dean thinks, _he's huge._ Easily six feet tall, bigger even than Sam, with enormous dark wings that must span at least twenty feet from wingtip to wingtip. His legs are twist like a bird's, with long eagle-like talons. Both his legs and his arms are covered in thick, shiny opaque scales, though on his legs they split around the calves to shift to deep blue feathers. On his forearms, from his wrists to his elbows, are a line of sharp looking spines. Between his two large eyes is a stripe of pale blue feathers that begins at the tip of his nose and carries across his forehead, through his feathery hair, to form a sort of sail on his back that flares with his wings. His mouth is huge and gaping and full of teeth that look big and sharp enough to chomp Dean's arm off in one bite. In short, he looks _terrifying_.

And he's coming straight toward them.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean just barely catches Sam's gasp of alarm before the long, solid toes of the harpy's feet slam into his chest and knock him to the ground, pushing all the breath out of him before he can even wheeze, let alone get away. In less than a second the monster is sprawled over him, holding him down. He throws his arms out and starts thrashing until the harpy's clawed fingers dig into his forearms and press them back into the dirt. 

This close, Dean can see every little swirl and golden fleck in the harpy's blue eyes. He can count each individual feather sprouting along the bridge of his nose and up his forehead. He can make out the pattern on the great wings, curved high around them, isolating them from Sam and the rest of the world.

He _hates_ it. Dean's not a coward by any means, but the harpy's got talons and claws alike wrapped around all of his limbs, holding him down with sheer strength. This thing could kill him in a heartbeat—less, actually—and Dean could do literally nothing to stop him. He's still open-mouthed and hissing, but it seems to be directed mostly toward Sam now, who's pacing around them with a pinched expression. Whenever Dean tries to shake him off, the harpy glances down at him with a reproachful cluck and tightens his grip, but otherwise his attention is focused on Sam.

"Dean? Are you hurt?"

"Not really," Dean groans, "but he's fucking crushing me. I can barely breathe." _I shouldn't've come here,_ he thinks, but then imagines Sammy in his place, trapped under a goddamn monster with anger issues, and feels a bit relieved that he did.

The harpy shifts into a crouch over Dean so that, while he's still covered and pinned, the majority of his body weight is off the human. Dean inhales gratefully and then feels the breath catch in his chest at the new spark in the monster's big eyes.

"Thought you said he didn't understand English," he calls out to his brother, thinking. The harpy had backed off a bit when he'd said he couldn't breathe, but there was no way he could've guessed what Dean was saying if he didn't already understand. You didn't just here garbled nonsense and then correctly assume that you're impeding someone's breathing.

"I didn't think he did!" Sam replies, frustrated. He keeps moving to try and get a glimpse of his brother on the ground but the harpy's got a watchful eye on him and shifts his wings every time in such a way that Dean always remains out of view. It's intensely irritating, especially since the harpy's never acted this way around strangers before, but if his hypothesis is correct—

Dean recalls, out of nowhere, a Youtube video he'd watched once with Charlie where a handler on one of the West Coast reserves had calmed down an agitated harpy. She'd scratched under the harpy's chin as if she was a dog and the monster had gone from 60 to 0 right away, practically melting into a pile of feathers at her touch. _Only way I got to get out of this unharmed_ , Dean decides, but he can't really reach up with his arms pinned so he starts by wiggling his hands around until his fingers find the smooth, pale scales of the harpy's wrists. He wraps the fingers of one hand around the harpy's forearm, mindful of the spines, and holds tight. The harpy blinks down at him in surprise, now that he's completely stopped struggling. His mouth snaps shut, abruptly cutting off the hissing, and then the corners of his lips twitch as if he's about to smile but doesn't really know how. The catch in attention is enough—Dean yanks his other arm free and, before the harpy can restrain him again, reaches for his throat.

His fingers meet skin, roughened by stubble but undeniably warm and human. Quickly, before he can convince himself otherwise, he curls his fingers and starts scratching under the harpy's chin. The effect is immediate.

The harpy makes a sound like a choked warble and shudders, full body. His fingers tighten and loosen spastically, his wings tremble, and his feathers—all of them, every single damn one—fluff out like an angry cat. It would be even a little bit intimidating if not for the fact that the harpy was also _purring_ , like a damn kitten.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Dean says, laughing a little in surprise. “It worked. It fucking worked.” The harpy’s eyes, which had slid closed as soon as Dean had touched him, blinked open as he spoke. Alarmed, Dean moves to pull his hand away.

“No,” the harpy groans, pushing back into the touch. “Don’t stop. Feels nice.”

Dean can’t see his brother from behind the shield of wings but he just _knows_ that Sam is probably losing his mind over the fact that not only does the harpy understand English, but apparently speaks it, too. He starts scratching again and the harpy makes a low, pleased sound.

“You can talk?” Sam exclaims. His voice is fully of geeky excitement, like the secrets of the universe can be solved now that he knows that the troublesome harpy can communicate with him. “How come you haven’t tried to talk to me before? Or any of the others?”

The harpy doesn’t even spare him a glance—his eyes are half-lidded with pleasure, the little focus they have is aimed toward the human he has beneath all his claws. He opens his toothy mouth like he wants to answer, but only a high pitched whine comes out. He’s seriously enjoying the scratching, Dean realizes, and wonders if he can use that to help maneuver himself out of the harpy’s hold. And—and he’s gotta find out the thing’s name, if he has one, because referring to him as “the harpy” every time is getting seriously tiring, even in his head.

Reasoning that he’ll be able to hold a good conversation with the harpy if he takes away the distraction, Dean slows the motion of his fingers bit by bit until he finally holds them still. On the dude’s throat, still, which is a little awkward once he realizes that he’s got his hand on a man’s throat, just holding him there, so he yanks it back before Sam can notice.

The harpy whines at the loss and frowns down at him. There’s no trace left of the violent monster that had met Dean when he’d first arrived. Now, he’s more like an unruly pet bird—tamed, yet still a bit wild. “Why did…you stop?” he asks, his voice deep and full of stops and starts, like it’s been a long, long time since he’d used it. Dean shivers a bit at the gravelly sound, and then refuses to acknowledge why. “I said. No stop. Don’t stop.”

“It’s uncomfortable on the ground,” Dean says, as if that’s the problem with rubbing the throat of a _guy_ who’s clearly having a lot of fun with it. Seriously, if the harpy was an actual human on top of Dean, it would be quite visible how much he enjoyed the rubbing. Fortunately for Dean, his lower half is all birdy—feathers cover up any reaction that might be taking place.

After a moment lost in his thoughts, Dean realizes he’s staring full out at the harpy’s groin and jerks his eyes away, anywhere that’s not big and blue and feathered. He finds Sam’s shoes pacing around in the corner of his eyes and twists his head to follow that, keep an eye on his brother.

“Could you, I don’t know, let me up? Maybe?”

“And you will resume?” The harpy asks. His plumage is starting to lay flat again, smoothing out and settling back in place. When Dean nods, he pauses for a moment, then releases Dean’s arms. He leans back a bit so that he’s no longer perched over Dean and sits back squarely on his haunches to watch the human get to his feet. 

Dean pats the dust off his backside once he’s upright and tries to meet his brother’s eyes. Sam, though, is trying to catch the harpy’s eyes, still clearly in shock over the whole speech thing. Finally, he glances back at Dean, and his eyes are wide with wonder. _Name,_ he mouths to Dean, who picks up after he repeats it a few times. _Ask him his name_.

Dean scowls back. What he really wants to do his wave goodbye to his brother and the crazy bird monster, hop into his car, and hightail it back home. Once again, he starts regretting coming out. However, a little part of him does recognize how huge this must be for Sam—the problematic harpy that apparently had yet to cooperate with anyone until now, not only listening to commands but also responding to them, speaking on his own. It’s a big deal.

“You, uh, you got a name, bird boy?” he asks, more than a little uncomfortable with the intensity of the harpy’s gaze. He doesn’t even look away from Dean as he waddles backward to the abandoned pile of fish, scooping the trout into his scaly hands and giving it a careful sniff.

The harpy runs his tongue over his pointed teeth and takes a good, hearty bite of the trout. He chews slowly and carefully, and never once while he eats do his big eyes leave Dean’s.  


“Castiel,” he says, after a few minutes of silence. “My name is Castiel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im gonna make it my goal to update at least every two weeks, with early updates as often as I can :P anyway, let me know what y'all think :)


	3. meet the fam, part 1

On the drive back home, Sam is texting up a storm. Dean tries to lean over a few times, catch a glimpse of the conversation and see what's got his brother acting like a teenager with her boyfriend, but ultimately he's forced to keep his eyes on the road and as such does not get even the smallest look. Of course, that means nothing when Sam's phone suddenly erupts into a girly ringtone and he quickly hands it off to Dean.

"Uh, this is Dean?" He starts to say before an excited squeal bursts out of the speaker. He winces and draws the phone away from his ear to wait it out.

“—a life-saver,” the voice on the other end cries, and that’s when Dean recognizes the speaker as Charlie. “Seriously, Winchester—I don’t know _how_ you did it, but thanks a bunch. I’m gonna owe you for, like, so many years. I’d promise you my firstborn child but I think we both know how that’s not exactly ha—”

“Charlie, dude,” he interrupts her with a low chuckle, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Why do you owe me the kid you aren’t going to be having?” Sam raises an eyebrow at him from the passenger seat, but a pleased smile is wide across his face.

“I owe you every pound of riches I own as the Queen of Moons,” Charlie insists. “In ten minutes, you’ve managed to make more progress with one of our harpies than the rest of my crew has in _months_.”

“I—what? I didn’t do anything.”

“He—oh my _God_ , Dean, you got him to start a conversation with you when we didn’t even know he could speak to us!”

Sam nods eagerly, which means that he can clearly make out everything Charlie is saying, but Dean puts the phone on speaker anyway and tosses it between himself and his brother. Personally, he doesn’t feel like the achievement at the reserve was all that much of an achievement. It was a mere conversation, and a short one at that. After Castiel had told the brothers his name, he’d sat down and finished the pile of fish that Dean had brought, every few minutes answering one of the questions Sam was peppering him with. Dean had come for the sole reason of delivering food to console the harpy, and once his job was through and tensions seemed more or less calmed, he was ready to hop in his car and speed home. Sam refused to allow him to leave and somehow managed to sneak the keys from Dean’s pocket so that he was trapped there until his brother was ready to go as well. Which he _wasn’t,_ because apparently it was the coolest thing in the world that Castiel-the-angry-harpy had a name and could communicate and—anyway, Dean’s already heard the whole spiel about the sheer _amazingness_ of his deeds today and he feels they fall a little short of the importance they’ve been given but whatever.

“You know,” Sam says suddenly, “Dean only works night shifts at the Roadhouse. He’s usually free during the day, when he’s not, you know, sleeping off a hangover or a hooker or something like that.” Though he says it lightly, with a slight smile on his face, the mention of Dean’s daily activities—or lack thereof—is actually a bit of a sore spot between them, as Sam happens to feel that Dean is wasting his life away.

Dean scoffs a bit at the little jab, truthful as it may be, and considers retaliation. Something like _at least I’m capable of having a good time and getting laid_ , or _I’m not some whore, you can’t go selling me out to all your friends_ , when out of the corner of his eye, he catches a scarlet flash of motion from one of the side mirrors. The retort catches in his throat. A heartbeat later, there’s a sickening _crunch_ and the roof of the car suddenly folds in between his and Sam’s heads.

Dean does not shriek. He _doesn’t_. it’s definitely a very manly, very angry man-scream that he makes as he quickly pulls over and debates whether inspecting the damage to his beloved car from the outside is worth the risk of coming face to face with whatever _thing_ was crazy enough to crash land on it in the first place. Sam has fallen silent since the impact, and Charlie must’ve heard Dean’s man-scream through the phone because she, too, is quiet. All Dean can hear is their breathing, near soundless, and what seems to be the scratching of claws above them.

“Shit, Sammy,” Dean whispers. He can’t get an eye on the monster above them in the mirrors anymore, and he’s got virtually no clue how aggressive this beast may be in comparison to the surprisingly friendly harpy. “What’s going on? What is this? Why’s it attacking us?”

Somehow, Charlie hears him. “You’re probably some kind of monster catnip!” she chirps, apparently uncaring of the fact that sudden noise could provoke the monster into further violence. The thing’s already wrecked his car—inwardly, Dean sobs a bit—the last thing he wants is a dent in himself, or his brother. Unfortunately, the monster must’ve heard her, because it starts moving around again. The creak of bending metal makes Dean wince and finally he decides he’d rather catch a claw to the face than allow the thing to damage his car anymore.

Before he can actually make a move and go through with his decision, the monster shuffles to the front of the car and sticks its head over to peer in through the windshield. 

“Relax, Dean,” Sam says with a grin. He waves out the windshield and the monster moves a humanoid hand into view and waves back. “This is Anael. She’s one of our friendly harpies.” 

“Friendly _my ass_.” Dean frowns. Sam raises an eyebrow. “Look what she did to my car! That’s not friendly!”

Anael fixes her large eyes on him when he speaks, and then Dean can recognize some of the features that are similar to Castiel’s. She has the same big eyes that he does, though hers are auburn. Her hair is dark red, like flame. The bit of feathers sprouting from her ears and on her face fade from red to gold, as Dean guesses the rest of her feathers do.

Sam shrugs, like the damage done is no big deal to him, like they’re dealing with a puppy that peed all over the kitchen floor rather than a deadly bird woman crushing their car as easily as if it were a tin can. “She was just _dropping by_ to say hello,” he says brightly, snorting at his own little joke. Dean shoots him a glare that is pointedly ignored. “Weren’t you, Anael?”

The harpy’s head slides out of view, the roof of the car gives a final squeak of protest, and Anael drops to the ground outside the passenger side with her wings tucked close to her back and a smile on her pretty face.

“Yes,” she agrees as Sam gets out of the car. “Hello.”

“Charming,” Dean says tightly, but he opens the door and gets out as well. “And hello to you, too. But do you think, next time, you could do so without turning my Baby into a piece of scrap metal?”

Anael narrows her eyes at Dean over the roof of the car. The feathers of her ears tremble and flare slightly before settling back down. “Baby? Where?” As if she expects to see an actual child in the car, she shuffles closer to Sam’s window and peeks inside. “Where is it?”

“Dean doesn’t actually have a baby,” Sam assures her. “He’s, uh, he’s talking about his car. Which you landed on.”

Anael straightens up and surveys the car from bumper to bumper. “Don’t,” Dean warns when she reaches out to inspect the crater caused by her landing. 

“I didn’t mean to break your ‘Baby,’ Dean.” Her eyes, large and solemn, latch onto Dean’s like a scolded puppy’s, and her scarlet and amber wings droop from their previous position so that the longer primaries rest across the ground. After a few moments of tense eye contact, she hops around the front of the Impala, being careful to avoid allowing her feathers to brush against the car, and gracefully kneels in front of Dean. Startled, he takes a step back. Anael keeps her head bowed for a little while, long enough for Dean to catch Sam’s eye in confusion. His brother shrugs in return. _For someone who spends all this time hanging out around harpies,_ Dean thinks to himself, _he doesn’t really seem to know that much about their behavior._

After the awkwardness seems to reach prime level, Dean realizes that Anael is waiting for something. “It’s fine, I guess,” he finally says. “You didn’t—it was an accident.” The harpy remains kneeling a few seconds more, then she unfolds and gets back to her feet. She spares not even a moment to brush off the bit of dirt and gravel in her feathers before moving back to Sam’s side of the car.

“I heard Miss Charlie’s voice,” she tells him with another glance in the window, “but I do not see her in Dean’s ‘Baby.’ Is she hiding?”

Sam reaches through the open window and picks his phone up off the seat. “Charlie, are you still there?”  
“Always at your call, my lovelies,” she calls through the phone, still on speaker. “Is everything alright? Dean totally left me hanging.”

Dean absolutely does _not_ miss the way the colorful sail on Anael’s back suddenly ripples, or how she steps closer to Sam with her big eyes firmly focused on the phone in his hands. He sees her tail feathers flag up and down, like an excited dog wagging its tail, and though he knows next to nothing about harpies and their behavior, he has a good idea of what all this means. Sam clearly knows as well, because he passes his phone into Anael’s eager hands with a pleased expression and no hesitation.

“Miss Charlie, I am speaking to you from the—what is the word, Mr. Sam?—the phone. I heard your voice in Dean’s Baby and decided to ‘drop in and say hello’ as Mr. Sam put it, so. Hello.”

“Anna! My favorite girl! You’re the mystery monster terrorizing Dean-o, my hero!”

 _Interesting,_ Dean observes. _She goes completely red from head to toe. I didn’t know scales could blush._ Inexplicably, he finds himself wondering what Castiel would look like, if he would flush red or blue, or if it would be a mixture of both and his scales would shine purple. He shakes the thought away.

“Dean was in the middle of telling me about how he met the reclusive Castiel today,” Charlie is saying when he tunes back in. “We found out his name and everything. Well, Dean did—and that’s why he’s my hero. My platonic knight in shining armor—ode to Dean, for having the face pretty enough to appeal to the poor, lonely harpy who no one else could reach. Is he still around? Bless him for me, Anna.”

“Miss Charlie wants me to bless you,” Anael says to Dean. Her cheeks are still pink, but the blush has more or less faded from the rest of her skin, or at least the skin that’s visible beneath the woven top that covers most of her torso. She curls one of her clawed hands into a fist, rests it above her heart and extends it toward Dean before gripping the phone again. “I blessed him for you.”

“Ah, that’s my girl!” Anael looks like she’s about to melt into a puddle of liquid fire, and maybe any other time Dean would be cool with hanging about watching an awkward half-human flirt with his best friend, but he’s still got Doctor Sexy waiting for him back at the house. He wants to get back to that. And maybe take a bath or a shower or something to wash away the lingering stink of Castiel’s fish. And, _fuck_ , get to work on taking care of his poor, damaged Baby.

“Can we maybe move this along?” he asks Sam. “I had a date with Doctor Sexy tonight that it looks like I might have to postpone to spend time with Baby instead. Courtesy of your friend.”

Sam scowls at him at first, but at the mention of the Impala relaxes his gaze and blows out a huge sigh. “Yeah, yeah. ‘scuse me, Anael, can I have the phone back?”

You’d think that Sam is trying to steal candy from an actual infant given the look Anael gives him. After a moment though, she hands it over to him, but her lips are pressed thin in a pout and the feathers of her ears are flat against the sides of her head. Her wings, once more, are drooping. 

“It’s me again, Charlie. Sorry to disappoint but Dean wants to go home and he’s getting impatient. Say your goodbyes.”

“Peace out bitches!” Charlie calls through the phone. A second later comes the dial tone. Sam slips his phone into his pocket with a sort of apologetic smile toward Anael, who shuffles her wings with a frown in his direction. 

“Alright, Anael. Thanks for dropping by—” here, a smirk, like he hasn’t overused that joke already “—but it’s time to go our separate ways again. Charlie will be back at the reserve tomorrow, don’t worry.”

“Actually, Mr. Sam,” Anael says, but with a little bit of a blush again, “I can’t leave yet.”

“No?”

“No.” she spreads her red and gold wings and gives them a single flap, before folding them back in again and fixing her eyes on Dean. 

“Why not?” he asks, unsettled by the intensity of the gaze.

“I was sent here to deliver a message. To you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no cas in this update, sorry. but now we have anna, who used to be awesome!! and Charlie, who is still awesome!!! introducing #prayforannabecauseshesfuckinggay, may the future hold happiness between her and Charlie (but probably not because I ship Charlie and jo, unfortunately they're all dead:/)  
> also I am terribly sorry if there are any errors, I'm trying to post this on time and therefore I haven't had a chance to proofread it yet D:  
> thank you all for the wonderful comments and kudos :) hope you enjoyed this


	4. more or less a proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and what the hell is this??//? a chapter a day early?? it's because I love you all :)  
> hope you enjoy!

_A message?_ Dean wonders, watching as Anael reaches into a pocket in her woven top and withdraws her hand in a fist. When she unclenches her hand, it reveals a number of marble sized gems. Sam widens his eyes at the sight of them and lets out a small whistle. Dean takes this to mean the gems are the real deal rather than the fake plastic kind and spares a moment to question how the harpy managed to come across them before she moves forward and offers them to him.

"For me?" Dean forgets about his previous desire to get the Impala home to fix it up and raises his hands so Anael can pour the gems into them. He doesn't really know that much about gems and precious stones but if these are real, and they surely seem to be, he must be holding at least a thousand dollars right here. There are clear stones, and stones that are semi transparent in some places and colorfully clouded in others. His eyes are drawn to a particular stone, roughly the size of a quarter, that seems to be dark gray but carries streaks and flecks of other colours, like a miniature rainbow. Dean's never seen anything like it before. He finds himself surprisingly taken with it, and curious as to how he never knew he had a soft spot for pretty jewelry.

"They are a gift from my brother," Anael tells Dean after he is done examining the jewels, "in the hope that you will consider his offer. The one I've been sent to tell you about."

Dean eyes the gems a little suspiciously now, wondering what the hell kind of offer needs to be sweetened by pretty jewels. And what kind of person Anael's brother thinks Dean is by assuming gems will be enough to sway him.

"What's the offer?" He toys with the idea of giving the gems back, but if he's right about their worth, then selling them will do wonders not only for him but also for Sam and helping to fund the Reserve. 

"Tomorrow, when you return to the Reserve, you will take another gift of fish and meet him in the forest for, as you call it, 'lunch'. My brother will have something for you as well. That is what he wants."

"That's the message you were sent to tell?" Sam says suddenly, and Dean remembers for the first time in a while that he's even there. Sam's making a face between a grin and a grimace, which shouldn't be possible but somehow he can pull it off. "Your brother wants to take Dean out on a date?" He turns to Dean and the smile wins and spreads across his face, typical little-brother smugness practically oozing out of him. "Guess you made a bigger impact on Castiel than you really thought, eh?"

Anael frowns at how Dean makes face at that, as if Dean should in no way be even a little disturbed that the bird guy who pretty much attacked him earlier that day was now bribing him with jewels to have what was more or less a lunch date the very next day.

"I'll bring some fish," Dean supposes, after he remembers how Castiel _was_ basically starving off of lack of fish. "But I'm not staying. It's not a date." Sam waggles his eyebrows at him like he begs to differ, and Dean snaps, "It's _not!_ "

"It's not a.. date," Anael agrees after a moment where she probably tried to understand what the issue was. "The harpyfolk do not date. The sharing of meals is the first step of our courtship rituals, which is what will take place tomorrow, should Dean accept."

At first, Dean had felt like immaturely crowing at his brother for his being wrong and Dean's being right—but then the rest of Anael's statement registered and he blanched. _Courtship rituals._ Was she serious? She couldn't possibly be serious. Castiel wanted to _court_ him?

"Guess you were right, Dean," Sam snorts. "It's not a date—it's a marriage proposal! He definitely accepts," he adds quickly to Anael, too fast for Dean to recover enough to protest. "He'll be there, for sure, ready for courtship!"

Anael nods at them both and launches into flight before Dean can even try to stop her. In a matter of seconds, she's gone.

Absently, almost like he's not entirely in control of his body, Dean slumps into the car. He unclenches his hand, which had tightened into a fist in surprise, and stares at the gems. Carefully, he pours them onto the center seat beside him, making sure not to let any of them slip into crevices or roll into the foot well. Sam slides in a few seconds later and scoops them all up immediately to examine them.

"I can't believe you just sold me off for a couple of rocks," Dean grumbles in irritation. "Do you not understand how serious this is?"

"It doesn't have to be that serious," Sam says, rolling his eyes. He picks out the rainbow one that Dean had fancied earlier and holds it close to his face. "You don't really have to come if you don't want to. I can take the gems back to Castiel tomorrow and bring the fish myself."

"You already promised her I was gonna be there." Dean looks around the inside of his car, marveling at the damage visible and feeling a little bit like crying. But, manly crying, of course. A single tear to show that he had feelings and that would be it. "I'll just give him the fish and then leave. I think he'd understand why I don't want to..." Internally, he winces. _Courtship_ —how is this his life? "Anyway," he says as he starts up the car, "what've we got over there? What're the goods?"

“Looks mostly like the typical jewels you’d get in jewelry stores, though I got no clue how Castiel managed to get his hands on such perfect ones when he barely leaves the Reserve.”

“Maybe you’ve got gems buried in the ground everywhere,” Dean suggests. “You an’ Charlie must’ve built the place on a goldmine or something.”

“There’s no gold,” Sam corrects him, but the expression on his face implies that he’s considering it. “A lot of this stuff is clear—quartz gems, I think. I doubt there’re any diamonds here but who knows. Maybe we’re lucky. Maybe Castiel thinks you’re worth diamonds already, even before the first date—sorry, first _courting ritual_ ,” he adds with a grin that declares how hilarious he thinks he is. Dean doesn’t even spare the time to roll his eyes, just lifts one hand off the wheel for enough time to flip his brother off before returning it. “This one—the one you like, I know I saw you lookin’ at it earlier—judging by the coloration… opal? I think? I remember looking at opal engagement rings a few years ago.” For Jess, he doesn’t say, but Dean knows anyway. “Always thought they were cooler than diamonds. Prettier, at least. And these—emeralds and jade. Guess he really liked your eyes, huh? Couldn’t pick which colour suited em more, gave you both. Man,” Sam says, suddenly exasperated, “imagine how many of these we could have if I’d brought you to work sooner. We’d have enough money to really fix up the Reserve, expand it even. You could have a bigger house—more cars, too.”

“Don’t need more cars when I’ve already got my baby,” Dean dismisses. He rubs his right hand against the dashboard fondly, still quite upset over the dent in the roof and other damage that she certainly didn’t deserve. “And what do I need a bigger house for when ours is just the right size?”

Sam turns to face him and no longer is his expression jovial. Instead, it’s rather serious, much like earlier when the mention of Dean’s abundance of free time was mentioned. 

“Y’know, Dean, I’m more than alright being on my own. I’m not a kid anymore. You don’t have to throw away your wants just to stay with me and mine. I want you to be happy too, and that means going for what you want.”

“I—what makes you think I want a bigger house? Or to get away from you?” So far today, Dean’s been attacked by a crazed bird man, invited to a date with said crazed bird man, had his beloved car brutally crushed, and been given The Talk About What’s Good For Dean once, soon to be twice. Surely, his luck can only improve in the near future.

“I’m not saying you want to get away from me.” Sam returns his gaze to the gems in his big hands but he still looks serious. “You want—a family. And you can’t get that sharing a place with me.”

For a few minutes, silence falls. Dean drives and Sam admires the jewels and neither of them talk.

“I’m not looking for a new family anytime soon,” Dean finally allows. Absently, he thinks of the first—and last—time he’d tried to start a family. It had ended with a car accident and tears. Lots of tears. “The one I already got’s just fine for me. Unless  
that’s your way of saying _you_ want your own place?”

“And leave you all alone? No thanks,” Sam says. A smile returns to his face, and Dean’s pleased by this, even if he hates this conversation and the particular turn it’s taken this time around. “I’m just saying, we have options now. I guess. Well, that’s what I wanted to say. I think I might’ve gotten turned around.”

They pass by the Safeway Dean had gotten the fish from earlier. He remembers the woman who’d been offended by his purchase and, chuckling, tells Sam all about it. They could use some lightening up. 

 

Xx

 

At home, long after Sam’s called it a night so that he won’t get caught and laughed at, Dean settles onto his bed with his laptop. According to the Internet, the—and he cringes even thinking about it, really—courting rituals of harpies are in fact used fairly often on humans. A few of them have managed to result in marriage, which Dean doesn’t really understand at all given that harpies are still thought of by a lot as wild animals, some as even less.

He finds a number of articles written by humans regarding the experience. A lot of them talk about how they didn’t even realize they were being courted by their harpy, only finding out because they were told or because the rituals proceeded enough for it to become obvious.

Backtracking to a simple google search of harpies as a whole, Dean sets to further the meager knowledge he has of their behavior so that he’s prepared for tomorrow.

Whether he’s going to share a meal and then let Castiel down or drop off the fish and reject him straight-away, Dean doesn’t know yet. What he does know is that somehow, he _has_ managed to reach the harpy when nobody else at the Reserve could. And if he’s not careful tomorrow, he could ruin everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cannot wait for the date :) who's ready to be surprised? also: I know absolute shit about gemstones for real so you can thank the magical powers of google for everything mentioned, and definitely feel free to correct me if i'm wrong.  
> also[part 2]: in addition to an update a day early... you might be able to expect another(shorter) one over the weekend? and even possibly one next week too?  
> thx for reading :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> class is almost out, i'll have to edit this when i get home :o anyway, enjoy the longest chapter yet!!

Instead of letting Dean sleep in to nine like he usually does, Sam crashes into his room before six and wakes him up eagerly. Dean is distantly reminded of a younger Sam, one who used to get excited about Christmas and always wanted to wake Dean early in the morning to share his joy. Sam outgrew that childish joy during the year their father was at the peak of his drunken rage, when anything and everything happy set him off, and Dean finds himself a little bit relieved to see it again today—even if it is entirely at his expense. 

While Sam bounces off to get coffee for them(because he does understand that Dean is not at all a good person in the morning until he's been sated with the liquid gold) Dean struggles to put together an outfit that doesn't say _I give less than a shit about this date-not-a-date_ or _I am so unbelievably in love with you and your hot, feathery bod—take me now!!_ Needless to say, it's rather difficult to find a suitable in between. He settles with something he'd typically wear to work at the Roadhouse: a comfortable plaid shirt over a black T-shirt, with a pair of jeans that's not too ratty and not too nice. That way, he looks like himself and not like he's intending to lead Castiel on. 

By the time he's dressed and downstairs, Sam's got a simple plate of eggs and bacon waiting for him in the living room along with a steaming cup of coffee. 

"Breakfast," Dean groans, because he can and because his usual schedule means that his first meal of the day is typically lunch so he hasn't really had breakfast-exclusive foods like bacon and eggs since before he started working at the bar. He sits down heavily on the cozy couch that's likely his favorite piece of furniture in their entire home, taking the plate Sam gives him and digging in. Dean steadily ignores the way Sam steps back to examine what he's wearing and _absolutely does not notice the self-satisfied smirk he makes, like he's proud that he's successfully roped Dean into a date-not-date with a poor pining bird man._ Dean snorts. He probably is, which is rather unreasonable in that the only action he took was giving Anael agreement in Dean's place. 

"Eat up," Sam tells him, smirk still infuriatingly in place. "We need to go to the store before we head over." For the first time since yesterday's drive home, the smug look falls a bit. Sam pats his pockets and glances in the direction of the table where they usually leave their wallets and keys. "Speaking of which, do you know where my wallet is? I must've left it at home yesterday but I can't find it." 

"It's in my car." Dean crunches down both pieces of bacon before looking back up to his brother with a smirk of his own. "I used it to buy the fish yesterday. Hope you don't mind." Sam frowns for a moment and then rolls his eyes, like he's surprised that he even bothered to be surprised over Dean using his wallet to do his favors. "And, chill," he adds after a few bites of egg. "We have plenty of time. It's still dark outside. I'm only supposed to go there for lunch, remember?" 

"Charlie and I run the place alone until noon. I'm sure we can find something for you to do while you wait for your date. And Charlie probably wants to thank you in person, too. So, we should get there as soon as we can." 

Because Sam made him breakfast without asking, Dean merely grumbles as he quickly forks the rest of the eggs into his mouth instead of actively bugging him to give him more time to eat. Besides, in all the hubbub that took place yesterday he forgot to question his brother about the green creature that was in the river, and heading in early might give him time to check it out before the inevitable rejection makes it too awkward for him to hang around anymore. 

Xx 

Until the Impala is fixed, Dean refuses to take her back to the reserve. Instead, they pile into Sam’s little Eco-Friendly Prius, even though Dean usually despises the thing. Dean lets Sam take the wheel so that he may catch up on what little sleep he can before he arrives at Awkwardville for his date-not-a-date of Extreme Discomfort with a side of Rejection. Sam takes the wallet Dean throws at him and disappears out of the car once they get to the store, returning with several full sized trout wrapped and bagged carefully. In the hand that's not holding the bag of fish rests a bouquet of slightly limp daisies, which Sam tosses into Dean's lap. He laughs when Dean bats it away with a frown. 

“You don’t bring flowers to someone you plan on rejecting,” Dean points out. “Give it to—I don’t know, can’t you feed them to something at the reserve?” 

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam scoffs. He takes the bouquet and sets it next to the fish in the backseat, carefully so neither fish juices nor little flower bits get strewn across the seat. “That’s just what every herbivore wants to eat—synthesized, chemically altered flowers. Why would any of them want to feed on the grasses or trees when they can snack on these flowers? What an amazing idea!” 

Dean smacks him in the shoulder. 

They’re both smiling the rest of the way to the reserve. 

Xx 

It isn’t until after Sam punches in the code to the entrance gates and they’re on the way down the path that Dean starts to get nervous again. The sun is up but barely; he can make out a few dark shapes hidden between trees, in the tall grasses and cattails of the marsh, though nothing close or illuminated enough to clearly make out. He wonders if Castiel is one of them, then shakes away the thought, seeing as he's half bird and more likely to be up in the top of the canopy. 

"Maybe I should just go home," Dean says quietly as they pull up to the cabins. "I brought the jewels; you can give them back to him and explain that I'm not interested—" 

"He'd take it better from you, either way," Sam interrupts him gently. There is no tease in his eyes, despite the way he's been goading Dean on for the last twelve hours about Castiel. "If you _really_ don't want to meet up with him, I'll do it. You can stay in the cabins if you want, or work with Charlie. But if you can clear this whole thing up without messing it all up and hurting his feelings, I think that would be better." 

"Better?" 

"From a selfish point of view, I'd like to send you with him just so that he'd be more willing to cooperate with us in the future. But if you can let him down without making any hard feelings, he'd also still be interested in being friendly with you, and you'd get to have a friend that isn't human. Not that you have many human friends either." 

"Shut it, asshole." Dean punches him in the shoulder to show his displeasure, but he is a little more convinced that running away from this particular misunderstanding isn't the direction he wants to take. He sighs, long and slow, rubbing his hands into his eyes. For a few moments, there is silence in the tiny car. Outside, Dean can hear soft birdsong and numerous yips and howls that he'd definitely not heard yesterday. Charlie's own sweet truck is visible behind one of the cabins farther away from them, but the lights are off and the area has an air of stillness as if she's been gone for a while. 

"I think I'll hang with Charlie for a while," Dean finally says. Sam waits patiently, still willing to let Dean turn his back on a date with a harpy and screw up any potential relations the rest of the caretakers could've formed. "And— _fuck_ —I'll meet the guy for lunch. Just, just drop of the jewels and fish, and tell him it's not gonna work out." He jerks open the door of Sam's crappy car, pretending not to see the pleased look on his brother's face. 

Xx 

Sam takes him to the cabin that Charlie is parked next to and sits him down on a squat little couch that rests inside. Beside the couch is a short bedside table, littered with all sorts of magazines—Dean scoops up a handful of them that have muscle cars stamped across the glossy covers and settles into the couch with a grin, finally relaxed. 

"She's probably busy with the werewolves right now," Sam says. "One of them is supposed to be whelping soon, maybe even today, so you might just get stuck here while she takes care of that." 

"I thought that kind of stuff happened in the cabins?" 

"Usually," Sam agrees. He checks his watch. "Madison is really shy, though. She prefers to be out in the woods instead of in these old buildings, especially around the people she's not really familiar with." 

Dean nods and focuses back on the magazines in his hand, though he swears the name sounds familiar. Sam bumbles around him, plopping the limp, abused bouquet onto the table beside the magazines, and then dropping the wrapped bag of fish off in the cream coloured mini fridge that Dean hadn't noticed before, tucked in the corner of the cabin next to a tiny kitchenette. "Where are you going?" He asks a minute later, when Sam turns to leave. 

"Just because Madison doesn't want to have her litter in the cabins doesn't mean others don't. Our naga laid her eggs last week, I need to rotate them. And Hester's egg is expected to hatch either today or tomorrow." He glances at Dean with an eyebrow upraised. "Somehow, you got here just in time for all the interesting stuff to happen." 

"Yeah, right," Dean snorts. "I've been through more things in the last twenty four hours than you have in the last seven years? Whatever, don't let me hold you back from your job. Maybe you'll get to see something interesting for once, too." 

Sam chuckles as he leaves, and Dean settles into the couch to wait. 

Seven magazines and three hours later, Dean has the names and numbers of a few decent body shops scribbled across his wrist, the small subscription card torn from one of the magazines and tucked into his pocket, and a rumble in his stomach that makes him wish he hadn't wolfed down breakfast so quickly, but still no Charlie. 

The flowers look sad and miserable where they lay slumped across the table, forgotten. After a moment of staring at them, Dean forces himself off the couch and in search of a vase—a cup, anything—to provide even a little relief. He doesn't know why he suddenly feels sad over a bunch of flowers that were already well on their way to their deaths, but he does remember—distantly—about his mother softly rejecting store-bought flowers, telling the younger Dean instead that her favorites were the ones he would dig out of fields behind their house, roots still intact. She'd been insistent that if he wanted to get her flowers, he had to make sure they would still be able to survive—and he hadn't bought pre-cut flowers at all growing up, remembering that. This bouquet, wilting and sorry-looking, would disappoint Mary, he's sure of it. 

The kitchenette is nothing more than a sink, oven, and handful of cupboards over countertop. When he investigates, Dean curiously finds a metal bucket, slightly rusted and chipping its paint. He fills it up using the sink and carries it back to the table, brushing aside the magazines so they don't get wet. The bouquet collapses limply against the side of the bucket when Dean carefully puts it in, and for the first time he wonders if it might be too late to save them. 

"Stupid flowers," he mutters at the same time as Charlie bursts through the cabin door. 

"My _HERO_ ," she greets him wildly. Her hair is a mess of tangles and there is leaf litter caught in it and in her clothes and sidebag and yet she still manages to look like royalty as she sweeps into a bow right in front of Dean with a bright grin. "Sadly, I don't have that firstborn yet," she continues, entering the cabin and taking in the bucket of sad flowers with a raised eyebrow, "but I do have a reward for you. Here, catch." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a handful of candy bars, all king sized. "Eat them now or save them for your date, I don't care." 

"You already know about that?" 

"How could you expect me _not_ to know? I have eyes everywhere, first of all, and second of all your brother is my bitch and he tells me everything. If I had known that all I needed was your pretty face to open up that boy, I would've tied you up, dropped you in my trunk, and carted you off to the reserve months ago." Charlie bounds over to the mini fridge, draws out a can of coke and pops the tag, takes a huge gulp. "Of course, at any time you could'a stopped being so stubborn and just headed over here on your own. That would've moved things along a long time ago." 

Dean finds a snickers bar among the others and rips it open instead of answering Charlie. To him, it doesn't matter if he'd visited the inside of the reserve a year ago or never—nothing would've happened between him and Castiel either way, so there would be nothing to move along. 

"Finish that up, buttercup," Charlie says suddenly. Dean looks up to see the grin on her face has turned predatory. "The harpies eat their midday meal earlier than we humans eat lunch. It's time to get this show on the road." 

"It's not—it's barely ten," Dean protests. The bite of snickers he's already had threatens to come back up as the nerves return. "That's not even close to 'midday'. And I'm not hungry." 

"You just attacked that snickers like you haven't eaten since winter," Charlie says, rolling her eyes. "C'mon, Winchester, don't be a sissy. It's just lunch. Lunch with a guy who wants to jump your bones!" She beams at him, either ignorant or apathetic to Dean's discomfort. 

"Just lunch," Dean repeats to himself. He dumps the rest of the candy and magazines onto the table next to the bucket of rejected flowers and gets up to retrieve the fish from the fridge. The gems clink against each other in his pocket, and he reaches a hand in there to settle them. If he's expected to give them back to Castiel after turning him down, he doesn't want to lose any of them before he even gets there. 

Charlie leads him out of the cabin and into the whimsical forest, still oblivious to his distress. "How were the werewolves?" Dean asks after he remembers why she's dirty and why it took her so long to reach him. Also because he would like to prolong the inevitable for as long as he can, but the other reasons mostly. 

Without tripping or stumbling over her feet at all, Charlie rotates so that she's facing Dean and walking backward. "Sam told you that Madison was whelping, right? We thought she'd be ready today, but I guess not. The pups were all pretty excited that there would be another one soon, though. They wanted to play, play, play. You should come 'round and see them some time," she says before turning around again and continuing. "I bet they'd like you a lot." 

"Yeah, well," Dean mumbles, "I've already got a monster that 'likes me a lot'. I think I've had my fill of them." The fish feel frigid and stiff against his chest where he cradles the bag, and he spares a moment to be grateful that at least they aren't stinking like yesterday's had been. 

A sudden _whooshing_ from above makes him whip around, expecting to see Castiel's big blue form. Instead, it's Anael, whose cheeks are as red as the rest of her as she lands between Dean and Charlie. 

"Good morning, Miss Charlie," she says politely. "My brother requests that Dean goes on alone, now." 

"Alone?" Dean winces, but neither of the girls pay him attention. Anael only has eyes for Charlie, and Charlie's looking around like she expects to see other harpies hidden in the treetops. Dean takes a hint from that and tries to search around for a glimpse of feathers but all he sees is green, green, green, though that means nothing when Anael managed to hide from their eyes while being redder than a fire engine. 

"You are to continue forward, in a straight line, until you come across the clearing where my brother waits for you." Anael pauses for a moment, and then meets Dean's eyes with a tiny, shy smile. "I hope everything proceeds well." 

"Don't we all," Charlie says, finally turning back to look at Anael and Dean. "C'mon, Anna. Let's leave this ol boy to his love bird, huh?" She leads the red harpy away from Dean on the path that they'd just come from, looking back only once with a smirk before they're both out of sight. 

Dean takes a moment to settle what nerves he can before tightening his grip on the fish and moving forward. A few minutes of walking pass, and then he makes it to the clearing that Anael had mentioned. It's small and dappled with sunlight that breaks through the canopy. A single tree rests in the center of the clearing, huge and with smooth white bark. On the other side of the tree, Dean can see a blanket spread across the ground, with an actual picnic basket on it. He can't see Castiel yet, but he can feel the harpy's eyes on him. 

He takes a deep breath and crosses over to the blanket. 

Castiel isn't there. Dean sits awkwardly on the blanket and sets the fish down. After a moment, he scoops the gems out of his pocket and places them next to the fish. 

Above him, from the great white tree, he hears the sound of feathers, but forces himself not to look up. 

He hears scaled feet touch down behind him. Great wings flap just outside of his vision, but he still doesn't turn, until the deep voice finally comes. 

"I'm pleased that you decided to come, Dean Winchester." 

He spins around. 

It's not Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whooooooooooooooooooooooooaaa, do i hear a plot fucking twist??? who do y'all think it is?


	6. meet the fam, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought i could be sneaky but everyone who guessed Mr. Unknown Voice was correct. Y'all are so smart, i'm gonna have to work harder next time to actually throw in a decent plot twist, aren't i.  
> anyway, sorry for the wait and thank you all so much for being patient!!!

“I knew you would make the right decision, Dean.” The harpy, looking impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit—and where the fuck did that even come from, given that the other two harpies Dean’s met were either wearing fairly basic clothing or none at all—that matches the colour of his wings and seems to take them into account with slits cut in the back, extends a hand out to Dean after the human scrambles to his feet. At a loss for words, Dean wonders whether accepting or refusing the hand would be worse. If it had been Castiel meeting him here—and _boy_ does Dean feel stupid now, so sure that it was him—then he would know how to respond, but this harpy _isn’t Castiel_. There are two pairs of wings on this harpy’s back; the larger pair starts to spread the longer Dean goes without making a move and then settles when Dean reaches out to grasp the scaly claws. 

The sensation is fucking weird—yesterday, when Castiel had been opening up to Sam and Dean, he hadn’t allowed either of them to touch him, though Sam very obviously looked like he wanted to, and even Dean couldn’t help but be curious toward the shiny thick scales and fluffy looking feathers. He kind of wants to tear his hand away from the unusual grip, but oddly enough he also wants to run it up the harpy’s arm, feel out those strange spines on the forearms, see if the skin past the scales will be human-warm or if it will have the same lack of heat the hands do. He settles for giving the guy a single handshake before dropping the hand and quickly stepping back a few paces. 

Though he raises an eyebrow at the distance and seems a bit irritated, the harpy folds into a crouch on the blanket and leans over to look at the fish, gesturing for Dean to sit back down. His eyes, big and blue like Castiel’s but not quite the same shade, find the jewels that Dean had deposited next to the fish. A soft rumble starts in his chest, like the noise Castiel made yesterday at Dean’s petting, but it sounds more like a growl than a purr.

“You’ve returned my gift,” he says quietly. The words are almost overwhelmed by the force of the growl. His clawed hands tighten into a fist, and the spines on his forearms ripple and flex. _Like a porcupine,_ Dean thinks to himself, and then cringes internally as he wonders if the spines can be shot out at him. The harpy scowls down at the gems as if they have wronged him, and then directs his gaze back at Dean. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Ah," Dean starts, and then falters. For all of the brainstorming of yesterday, he really doesn't have a clue how to proceed. He'd been prepared to reject _Castiel_ , not—not this dude, whose name he's still unaware of and unsure how to ask for given how damn awkward things already are. There’s no comfortable way to say ‘hey I thought I was going on a date with your brother but it turns out this is a date with you and I don’t even know your name? What’s your name again?’ "Well. So, we met Anal on the way home yesterday? And she made it clear that. Well, it actually wasn't _that_ clear, but she handed me your, um, gift, and said that my presence was—" here, he pauses, unwilling to say the word 'desired' given how literal it might be, "… _requested_ here. And I thought—she said to us, she said, 'my brother wants you to come have lunch with him,' and see, I'd thought she was talking about Castiel? So, um, I was going to bring the fish and the, the gift, and let you—him?—down easy. But. Here you are instead." 

“Here I am instead,” the harpy agrees. He reaches forward and spears one of the trout with a claw, then draws it closer to him and uses the claw to slit its belly. Dean watches the guts spill out and feels first surprised that the fish hadn’t been gutted at the store, and then concerned that he’s managed to scorn this dark gray harpy so bad that the dude is giving him a demonstration on what he plans on doing to him. “Why did you expect my younger brother to be the one to meet you here?” his claws stab into the trout, and his eyes turn stormy dark. If he were a dog, or even one of the many creatures that was simply doglike, Dean would’ve expected to see hackles raised. “Did you wish to meet him? Are you displeased to find me instead?”

The dead eyes of the trout currently being shredded under the aggravated harpy’s claws seem to bore into Dean. _You’re next,_ they say to him. _Hell no_ , Dean wants to say back. _Hell_ fucking _no_. there’s no goddamn way he’s stupid enough to provoke Mr Gray-and-Angsty into an attack. The fish is dead, what does it know? Not enough to keep it alive—which is less than Dean knows, because he _does_ know how to keep himself alive here and that's by not pissing off his date-not-a-date any further. Which he clearly is, the longer the silence persists. Right, because nobody likes being left hanging after asking their date-not-a-date if they'd wanted to hook up with their brother instead.  
"It's not that I'm displeased," Dean begins carefully, once the silence between them starts to feel uncomfortable. "It's more like, I was on my way here to respectfully turn down the harpy who invited me to lunch and return the admittedly awesome jewels he sent to butter me up with, and I was expecting Castiel because. Well, because I met him yesterday, and he and Anal were the only harpies I was aware of, as of that time. But you're here instead, so I'm gonna have to give you the same speech I was plannin on givin to your brother—sorry, pal, but I'm not interested. My type doesn't have wings."

If the silence before was uncomfortable, the atmosphere around them now is stiff and almost threatening. Dean resolutely keeps his eyes on the fish, so that if he does end up getting gutted for telling the truth at least those freaky talons won't be the last thing he sees. He imagines Sam going looking for him later, expecting to find him with temperamental Castiel and instead coming across his mutilated corpse, slaughtered for daring to say no.

Luckily though, the gray harpy heaves a massive sigh, sounding incredibly human. He withdraws his claws from the shredded trout and neatly wipes them clean on the blanket, says nothing. The tense atmosphere suddenly loosens as he quirks a corner of his mouth into a tiny, tiny smile, that does nothing to ease Dean if only because of the shark-like teeth peeking out from behind his lips. They seem longer than the teeth Castiel had bared at him earlier, deadlier, and Dean wonders if that fact, paired with the double set of wings, makes this creature a different species even from the other harpy.

"I will forgive your apology, terrible as it is," the harpy says. "I will acknowledge that you are not yet ready to begin the courtship—as we have known one another for less than a day, you surely need more time to 'come to terms' with myself and my proposition." He dips his head, completely oblivious to Dean's newly bugged out expression. "I will even invite you to stay and eat the food I have brought for you, though you have unfairly rejected me." Dean would sputter, disagree with him—anything really—but then the harpy frowns and pushes the jewels back toward Dean. "I will do all those things, as well as allow you to keep these which you are clearly fond of, as long as you can promise me one thing. Can you do that for me, Dean?"

Last time he even came close to promising something to a harpy, he accidentally accepted a date-not-a-date that was actually the first of a series of courtship rituals for a dude that wasn't even the dude he was accepting the date for. He's understandably trepid over this, but he also knows that the guy _is_ handling the rejection fairly well when past events have clearly proven that harpies prove to be violent and destructive even without meaning to—Anael's attack on his car, for example, as well as Castiel's hissy fit greeting—not attempting to disembowel him or anything. For that, maybe he deserves a chance. Also, as pointed out the day before, the gems could really help the Winchesters out financially. And, though he hasn’t had the chance to peek into the picnic basket yet, the smell alone is promising enough to make up his mind.

"Yeah. Sure," Dean agrees. He squints at the harpy and shovels the gems into whatever pockets he can tuck them into without needing to break eye contact to watch. "'S long 's it's reasonable, I suppose."

"I understand that you humans consider the word 'anal' to be more than mildly disturbing. Offensive, even. I would appreciate it if, in the future, you could refrain from using that term to refer to my sister. Her name is Anael. That is an entire syllable more than what you were saying."

Anal. Fuck, he’d been calling her _Anal_. To her brother! “Right, right.” Dean chuckles awkwardly and scrubs at the back of his neck. “Ahn-ay-el. Anael. Not Anal. Got it.” A few moments pass. The mutilated trout is recollected and the harpy settles into himself, visibly relaxing as he starts to eat. His smaller pair of wings remains tucked close to his back; the other wings spread out again and, after a few gentle flaps that create a soft breeze that rustles in Dean’s hair, splay over the blanket around him. Dean waits until the stormy blue gaze is directed down to the fish before reaching out and drawing the picnic basket closer to peek inside.

It’s full of sandwiches—sandwiches cut into both diagonal and rectangular halves, sandwiches spilling what Dean hopes is mayonnaise out the sides, sandwiches made of white bread or wheat bread or—for fuck’s sake, any kind of sandwich that one could craft on sliced bread is in this basket. None of them are wrapped or separated either, which means mayonnaise and shredded lettuce is smeared over the walls of the basket and there are globs of peanut butter and jelly alike scattered between sandwiches. Somehow, Dean doubts that any of them are safe to eat. He remembers the handful of candy bars back at the cabin that Charlie had brought him, and feels a burst of relief that he still has something to eat.  
“You aren’t eating.”

“Uh, no. see, I wasn’t planning on staying to eat, remember? So I grabbed a bite before I came. I’m not that hungry, really.” A plan for escape twinges in the back of his head. “In fact, I should probably be getting back to Sam soon, he was probably expecting me back a while ago and all.”

Dean gets to his feet, ignoring both the creak in his knees—Jesus, he’s getting old—and the icy stare of the gray harpy, snubbed yet again. Self-preservation, what’s that? Dean’s been on this date-not-a-date for less than an hour and he’s managed to piss off the deadly bird monster and reject him several times. Really, he’s lucky he hasn’t taken one of those talons to the gut yet. 

“Take the basket with you then, Dean,” the harpy finally sighs. His tone is mild but the spines on his arms are beginning to flex dangerously, and Dean knows enough to recognize a threat when he sees one. “And give my greetings to your brother, I suppose.”

“Right.” Dean bends over and snags the basket. He doesn’t plan on keeping it long enough to put it in his car let alone saving the sandwiches to eat later, when he actually is hungry. Which he is now, but that’s not important because he’s got candy bars with his name on them waiting for him back at the cabins with Charlie and his brother. He’s turned around, ready to leave when he realizes that a simple ‘hey so it turns out it wasn’t Castiel I was not-dating, it was Castiel’s brother who’s gray and angry and I don’t know his name but he wanted to say hi to you’ wouldn’t do much at all. “So, I, uh, I never quite caught your name," Dean says, turning back around. He stares up at the great white tree instead of looking at the gray harpy but his body _is_ facing the guy so he supposes that’s enough.

For the first time, really, since this whole mess of a non-date got began, the gray harpy looks even remotely pleased. His plumage fluffs up a bit, but not in the way that Dean recognizes to be threatening. It’s more like the way Castiel had puffed up at the petting yesterday, like he’s pleased as punch that Dean is asking for his name after the disaster of a non-date.

“My name is Michael,” the harpy tells him. There’s something like pride in his eyes as he says: “I am the Head of the Lawrence flock.” 

Dean hadn’t known there was a flock of harpies in Lawrence. He’d thought there were only a few individuals living in the reserve.

"So you're Head Honcho around here, then?" Michael nods and Dean lets his breath out in a small huff. Apparently, Dean's been on the non-date with a Person of Power. If Michael were human—and preferably female, too—Dean imagines that he would toss the basket right down and eat every single one of those awful looking sandwiches, no matter how much the thought makes his stomach want to die. Dude’s got good looks _and_ VIP status, which would work for Dean in any situation that doesn’t include a harpy. “Alright. Cool. Well, I’ll tell Sam then that Michael sends his greetings.” He lifts the basket and starts walking away. “Thanks for the grub, and sorry about the misunderstanding.”

Though he’s sure the harpy doesn’t actually leave the blanket, Dean feels Michael’s eyes on him all the way back.

Xx 

“ _Michael_?” Sam and Charlie say when he gets back, like they think Dean’s lying and pulling the name out of his ass to excuse his early retreat from the date-not-a-date.  
“Yeah, Michael,” Dean replies, frustrated. Since coming back and tossing the basket of fucked up sandwiches aside, he’s been trying to occupy himself with the consumption of sugary candy bars but the fuckers in front of him want every detail of the encounter and _won’t let him eat, damn them_. “We were all wrong, it ain’t Castiel wanting to score a hot date with this piece of ass, it was in fact Mr Leader of the Goddamn Birdman Pack.” He gestures at the picnic basket that lays where it was thrown against the wall with the kitchenette. “He’s a shitty cook, though. Can’t even make a damn sandwich right.”

Charlie and Sam still seem flabbergasted, but at least they shut up after that to let him eat.

Sam’s the first one to recover. “Michael is usually pretty aggressive toward humans,” he explains. “We only really let him into the reserve because it allowed the rest of the flock in too and some of them really needed the support.” He sinks into the   
couch beside Dean and grabs his arm, forcing his attention fully away from the candy. “Did he hurt you? At all?”

Dean shakes off the grip, irritated at the implication that he can’t defend himself from a bird man—even though the events of yesterday are pretty clear that he can’t—but he’s aware that Sam’s starting to feel guilty for pushing him into a non-date with an abusive fucker. He thinks of the few times when he feared Michael was ready to rip into him and represses a shudder of relief that he’s still in one good looking piece.

“I’m fine,” Dean says. “No hurts. And look—” he reaches into his pocket and withdraws the jewels, depositing them on the table with the magazines for Sam and Charlie to see—“he even let me keep these, though I made it clear I wasn’t interested.”  
Charlie leans over the table and inspects them, making a whistle of approval when she sees the rainbow-gray stone that had caught Dean’s eye earlier.

“Everything all good?” Dean asks, once the cabin is quiet and Charlie and Sam seem satisfied. “We done with the questioning? Because I think I’d love to get back to my candy, and you two are not helping.”

“We’re done,” Sam says with a sigh as he gets up off the couch. “You hang with Charlie for the rest of the day, I’m gonna head back to check on the eggs again.” He waves a salute in farewell as he leaves the cabin, and Dean turns his attention back to his food for as long as Charlie will allow him.

Of course, that doesn’t last very long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm spending the weekend in Canada and my wifi is incredibly spotty and selective--I'm putting this chapter up at a hockey rink and I have yet to know if the hotel i'll be staying at has any wifi :/ which means that I might have ch7 up this weekend or we might have to wait until I get back home on Monday. once again, thx for being patient!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [artpost for golden](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8570791) by [cinnabean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnabean/pseuds/cinnabean)




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